


A History of Moments

by Cakkie



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Drunken Flirting, Geralt Wants Jaskier Back, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier is Bad at Flirting, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Some Humor, Some Plot, Teasing, Yennefer is a badass, there for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25491355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cakkie/pseuds/Cakkie
Summary: A collection of five shorts surrounding Geralt and Jaskier. Each story can be read in cohesion or as a standalone.Food, Women, and Wine: Geralt enjoys having Jaskier around.Friends, Foes, and Jaskier: After surviving a wyvern attack, Jaskier wants Geralt to think of them as friends. It surprises him to learn Geralt already does.Great Compliments: While at an inn, Geralt discovers Jaskier can’t hold his liquor. His ass is still up for debate.Everything: Determined to find Jaskier, Geralt strikes a deal with Yennefer.Finding Home: Continuation of Everything. Nilfgaard has Jaskier. After Geralt tracks him down, he takes Jaskier to the one place he never thought possible.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 169





	A History of Moments

** Food, Women, and Wine **

“ _Foodwomenandwine, Geralt!_ ”

It wasn’t the first time the bard made such a promise in one breath. Caked in dirt, and exhaustion setting in after killing a child-stealing Harpy, Geralt stopped dead in his tracks. At the mention of all three, curiosity got the better of him. Tossing a glance over his shoulder, he waited for his clean-cut travelling companion to catch up with him. The bard let out a laugh. With a hop, skip and jump, raced over to Geralt and smiled, all hopes and dreams and gleaming white teeth. Geralt mentally cursed under his breath. He should know by now that when Jaskier smiled like that, the bard usually had something up his sleeve. But it was hard to say no when Jaskier radiated such exuberant joy.

“Oooh, this time it’ll be brilliant!” he cooed. “I promise you.” Jaskier rocked back and forth on his feet. “No courts and no feasts. Just you and me on the open road with a cornucopia of earthly delight...s. Hey! Geralt! Don-don’t leave me! Where-where are you going? _Foodwomenandwine!_ ”

“Uh, yeah,” Geralt muttered, his voice still raw from his last battle as he headed toward the tavern. “Whatever makes you happy, Jaskier. I need a drink.”

He managed one hefty push on the tavern door before Jaskier called out after him, “I mean it this time, Geralt!”

With the roll of his eyes, Geralt tried hard not to smirk but found it near impossible. The bard had a way of getting under his skin and staying there. Not that Geralt would have it any other way.

* * *

** Friends, Foes, and Jaskier **

“Get up!”

The urgency behind those words had Jaskier seeing stars. Breathing hard, he craned his neck as Geralt helped him to his feet. The scene before him was like something straight out of a nightmare. Thatched roofs and stone buildings lay scattered across the ground in a chaotic litter of broken homes and farms. But the wailing, the wailing, was worse. Jaskier swallowed hard and tried to calm his racing pulse while adrenaline pumped through his veins like wildfire.

With a deep breath, he shut his eyes and tried to make it all go away, but the grisly images refused to budge.

Bloody and shaken, villagers scrambled in desperation to find their lost kin amongst the rubble. Children wept into their mother’s skirts. Dogs barked. Cattle bleated in panic while they scurried in a confused circle in amongst the ruins as the terrified screams of the villagers echoed through his ears. A giant serpentine beast lay dead in the field, its bat wings fanned out like a sheet around its enormous red and green body. A hand covering his mouth, Jaskier fought the urge to be sick. He’d never seen a beast this big before, but the smell, the smell was something else. A vile, putrid stench of decaying flesh had Jaskier heaving. The giant horned wyvern hunting for prey wreaked on the small local village in such a quick time that Jaskier wondered if any of it was real.

A small child holding a frayed teddy bear sucking his thumb stared at Jaskier with wide eyes.

“Uh, hello.” He waved.

The child continued to stare at him and said, “ _Smells like toilet,_ ” before his frantic mother grabbed him by the arm, dragging him away in haste, warning him to stay away from Witchers.

_So, this is what it means to be a Witcher._

Jaskier silently swore. Geralt might be a Witcher by profession, but Jaskier did not fear him. He would never run from Geralt. _Never_. More than anything, all he wanted was to lean into the solid wall of muscle that was Geralt and wrap his arms around him. But if he did that, then Geralt would most likely have something to say about it. So Jaskier kept his hands to himself and looked at the dead beast once more. Guts hung out from a slit on its side, black goo oozing like syrup from its wounds.

_Geralt killed it._

Arms drooping and legs shaky, Jaskier swayed on his feet. He couldn’t seem to find his balance.

“Jaskier.” It was hard to hear his name over the loud buzzing in his ears. Geralt said his name a little softer this time, and Jaskier turned.

“You okay?” the Witcher asked, concern in his voice.

Those wolf eyes searched his. A thin cut slashed across Geralt’s cheek to his mouth and another on his chin. They would heal, but Jaskier wondered if either would leave a mark. Blood continued to trickle in a slow line down Geralt’s face, and Jaskier wished he could fix it. He wished he could fix all of it.

People continued to wail amongst the wreckage. Thankfully, no one appeared dead and only a few suffered minor injuries. But they lost their homes, their livelihood. It was too much for the bard to stomach.

After a few cool droplets of rain kissed his skin, Jaskier blinked and dug his blunt nails into Geralt. The Witcher waited patiently for an answer.

“I’m…” Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times before he said, “I’m okay.”

“Hmm,” came Geralt’s doubtful response. He put his big hands on Jaskier and guided him to a nearby stone bench. It amazed Jaskier how someone so big and strong, a man trained to hunt and kill monsters, could be so gentle when it came to him.

“Here, sit.”

Grateful for the chance to sit down, Jaskier eased his body to the seat. Ominous storm clouds rolled in overhead and he felt like this day would never end.

“Stay here awhile,” Geralt said, his hand still on Jaskier. “I’m going to see what I can do.”

“Hey! I’m not just another pretty face y’know! I can help.” Jaskier declared. “I know you think of me as nothing more than a bard,” he said quieter this time, “but really, Geralt, I can help.”

The Witcher made a face as if he were about to say no, but then he surprised Jaskier by saying, “all right. Just rest awhile first. I’ll see what needs to be done. Then we need to be on our way before nightfall.”

“Okay.” Jaskier breathed, grateful to be put to use. “You do your Witchering stuff and I’ll help those poor souls, see what I can do.”

“Hmm.”

And with that, Geralt stormed off towards the fallen wyvern. Its massive horned head lay twitching on a pile of crushed dirt in the broken field. With the mighty hack of his sword, Jaskier flinched as Geralt severed its head from its scaley body in one swing. A slick trail of more black goo oozed out from its neck and pooled on the ground.

“Listen!” Geralt shouted, his raspy, booming voice carried out over the crowd. The villagers settled. Mothers soothed their babies as the group of people waited for the Witcher to speak.

“This beast’s tail is poisonous. Doesn’t anybody touch it lest you want to die! My bard and I will aid you in whatever way we can before nightfall. Then you’re on your own. I’m… I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner.”

“Thank you, Witcher.” A village elder, spine bent and crippled with age, stepped forward. “Thanks to you and your bard friend, our village might live to see another day.”

Jaskier held his breath and waited for the typical, _he’s not my friend_ , from Geralt. Instead, what he heard made his heart flip-flop in his chest.

“Yeah,” Geralt agreed. “My friend.”

* * *

** Great Compliments **

“You have a great ass.”

“Shut up!” Geralt hissed at Jaskier through clenched teeth. The moment they arrived at the small inn for a quick supper of braised meat and beer, Geralt and Jaskier started drinking non-stop. The bustling inn welcomed them as regular patrons without so much as fuss or attention as they sat down at an empty table in the back corner. But where Geralt could handle his liquor, as most Witchers did, Geralt discovered Jaskier could not. It wasn’t long after his fourth tankard of beer that Jaskier refused to shut up.

“But you have a great ass!” Jaskier insisted. “It’s so big and round. It’s like… _a bubble_.”

“If you say one more word about my ass, I am going to have to kill you!” he spat.

Jaskier threw his head back and laughed full-heartily. Fuck, the bard was drunk off his tits.

“You’re so mad!” He laughed, surprising Geralt. “All because I paid you a compliment.”

Geralt groaned. “I’m a Witcher for fuck’s sake!” he growled. “We don’t get compliments.”

“Well, that’s… rather sad, in’it?” Jaskier slurred his words together. “Even that sexy insane witch never gave you one.”

At the mention of Yennefer, an old wound came right to the surface. One he’d tried to forget. Ashamed of the way left things in Rinde, Geralt often thought of Yennefer and wondered what she was up to now.

“That wasn’t,” he paused around a mouthful of beer. “It wasn’t Yen’s style.”

“Yeah, I suppose not,” Jaskier agreed with the scratch of his chin. “I mean, how could she possibly pay you a single compliment when she wasn’t capable of giving one to herself?”

Geralt turned to Jaskier. The bard was intuitive for someone who lived directly in the moment.

“Ehhh, either way, I wouldn’t worry about her. I am sure she has flown off on her broomstick by now to torment some other unsuspecting victim.”

Geralt snorted into his beer and gave Jaskier a playful jab to the ribs.

“Ow.” He mock rubbed his side, feigning injury. “But I’d still say you Witcher’s deserve a compliment from time-to-time.”

Geralt didn’t know what made him say it, but without looking at Jaskier, he said, “Then give me one.”

_Please don’t say I have a nice ass. Please don’t say I have a nice ass or I’ll have to kill you._

“Your heart,” Jaskier leaned forward on the table, making Geralt arch an eyebrow. “It beats four times slower than mine. But it’s still a heart, Geralt. However much you try to deny it, or pretend it doesn’t exist, I think you feel more than any single person on The Continent. You’re… you’re special, Geralt. And you’re… _my friend_. I care what happens to you.”

Well, fuck. Geralt did not expect Jaskier to say all that.

The air between them crackled with the electricity of unspoken words. The noise of the tavern dimmed in his ears as he continued to stare at Jaskier. With every creak of his leather armor, Geralt shuffled sideways until he was shoulder to shoulder with Jaskier, eyes darting to those plush lips of his. Jaskier was so close that Geralt could smell him, feel him, even reach out and touch him even if he wanted. The faint woodsy aroma of sandalwood mixed with rosewater left Geralt’s mouth dry. Fuck. He didn’t expect Jaskier to smell so good.

“Hmm.”

Geralt drank him in one last time and then shifted his weight back onto his seat.

Wide-eyed, Jaskier gaped at him. “Oh, well, that’s all well and fine then!” he exclaimed with his hands in the air. “So, all you have say to me is, ‘ _hmm, pay me a compliment, Jaskier. But don’t say anything nice_ _because I’m a Witcher and Witcher’s aren’t prone to receiving any_ ,’” Jaskier offered in his best impersonation of Geralt, making Geralt smirk.

A shit-eating grin tugged at his lips after Geralt stole a side glance at Jaskier. Cheeks pink and blue, eyes heavy-lidded and glossy, he looked so flustered. Perhaps the bard had been expecting a different response? Geralt took a long gulp of his beer. Jaskier was so over dramatic when it came to things that Geralt purposely wound him up every now and again just to get a reaction. And if Jaskier did the same to him? Well, he enjoyed it. How they interacted was strictly between them. Everyone else could fuck off as far as Geralt was concerned.

“All right,” Jaskier announced and swayed on his feet. “I’m getting another pint.”

Before Jaskier could walk even a few steps, he tripped over his feet and lost his footing. Using his lighting fast reflexes, Geralt shot out of his seat and caught Jaskier before the bard landed flat on his face. Giggling, Jaskier dangled limp in Geralt’s arms. With a gentle pat, Geralt helped him back to the table.

“My hero!” Jaskier breathed once safely back in his seat. He glanced at Geralt, all loose limbs and kissable lips, and smiled. Those bedroom eyes he gave Geralt looked like a fucking come hither invitation to bed.

“Uh, I, _fuck_. I think maybe you better sit this one down,” Geralt insisted slightly flustered himself. “I’ll get the next round.”

Jaskier nodded and slumped further in his wobbly chair. “Yep, you do that!” he called after Geralt. “ _And I’ll enjoy the view!_ ” Geralt stopped and turned. They locked eyes. A playful glint danced in Jaskier’s and Geralt felt something stir in the pit of his gut. But then Jaskier ruined it when he broke out in another fit of infectious laughter.

Geralt shook his head. People stared at him as he walked past. Some wolf whistled. Others whispered insults and curses under their breath. But Geralt paid them no mind. With Jaskier’s laughter echoing in his ears, a strange warmth spread through his chest.

“Oi! You really _do_ have a great ass!” Jaskier shouted behind him.

“Shut up, Jaskier.” He smiled and ordered two more beers.

* * *

** Everything **

“ _If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take_ **you** _off my hands._ ”

“I, uh, I made a mistake. A big fucking mistake. That’s why I need your help to locate a…”

“A friend?”

Arms crossed over her supple breasts, Yennefer of Vengerberg gave Geralt an incredulous look. Dressed in a skin-tight black gown, her midnight hair half up and lips red, Yennefer looked every bit the sorceress she proclaimed to be. Fuck, she looked good. She looked damn _magnificent_. After the battle at Sodden Hill, Geralt noticed the subtle change in Yennefer. Where she once appeared bitter and angry at _everything_ in life, including him, a quiet grace and regal confidence took its place instead. A sorceress who unleashed Chaos on the Nilfgaard army, Yennefer became a warrior sorceress overnight. Geralt fought the intense pull he felt towards her, determined to keep in mind that he wished for this, wanted this, that after Yennefer saved Jaskier, Geralt used his last wish to spare hers.

“ _It’s magic. It’s not real_.” Yennefer had once said to him.

He fought her on it at first. But the more they spent apart, the more he finally understood what point she was trying to make. Geralt did not ache for her, nor did she ache for him the way lovers did when seperated. Yennefer was her own creature, and so was he. Only when they were near did they feel the intense pull of something far greater than themselves.

_Magic._

“Uh, yeah.” Geralt held his ground as Yennefer drew close. Even with her newfound confidence and status as sorceress among The Brotherhood, Yennefer was still the same old Yennefer.

“Only he’s not just a friend to you, is he, Geralt?”

Her intoxicating scent of lilac and gooseberries flooded his senses with the promise of sex and sweet touches. It was strange how after one wish, Yennefer became like a drug to him. A drug he could not escape, all because of a fucking wish he made, a wish which cost them both a lot of hurt with a little pain in the end. Borch was right. Yennefer would never regain her womb, and Geralt was always destined to lose her. But wish or no wish, djinn or no djinn, Yennefer mattered to him. His former lover would always have a place in his life. Just not in the way he originally thought.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Yennefer circled him like a cat toying with a mouse. Her lips curved in a cruel smile. “What is he to you?”

Geralt decided that a bit of honesty went a long way with Yennefer. He swallowed hard. This could either go extremely well or incredibly bad.

“I said some things to him, Yen. Things I regret. After you left… I took my anger out on Jaskier and blamed him.”

Yennefer stopped. “Blamed him?” She let out a soft chuckle. “For what?”

“Everything.”

“Oh. Oh, I see. That’s hilarious. And how did your little bard take it? Heartbroken and shattered, I’m sure.”

An image of Jaskier standing on the mountaintop, the wind in his air and the look of complete hurt on his face, entered his memory and he wished he could change it.

“Cut the shit, Yen!” Geralt spat. “I know I’ve royally fucked up where we’re concerned, but for once in your life would it kill you to help a—”

“A friend.” The seriousness of her tone told Geralt she wasn’t fucking around anymore. “Very well. But on one condition.”

“Name it.” He sighed.

“Once life has truly given us what we want, and I mean _truly_ what we want with nothing more to offer, you and I are going to hunt that fucking Djinn down.”

Geralt frowned. Hunting a Djinn? That was pure madness. That was pure Yennefer.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I want my freedom back! I want…”

“What, Yen? What do you want?”

“Everything.” Her violet eyes lowered and Geralt thought for the first time he caught a glimpse of the girl she had been before Aretuza, but then she smiled and the moment was gone.

“So, do we have a deal?” Hands on her hips, she was back to business as usual.

Geralt nodded. “Hmm. We have a deal. We’ll hunt the Djinn together and you tell me how to find Jaskier.”

A funny look crossed her face, making Geralt twitch. “Who is he to you, really?”

Geralt took a breath and surprised Yennefer and even himself when he said, “Everything.”

* * *

** Finding Home **

It took precisely two weeks for Geralt to locate Jaskier.

After Yennefer used her magic to search for him, a quiet rage filled Geralt when he discovered Nilfgaard had captured Jaskier.

Under the cover of darkness, he snuck into their camp, silently and stealthily, his blade cutting down those who stood in his way. From what Yennefer told him, Jaskier was still alive and in a tent near the front. But with hundreds of white pavilions dotted across the hillside, Geralt wondered how the fuck he’d ever find him. If need be, he would crush every last Nilfgaard soldier to the ground if meant getting Jaskier out of there safe and alive.

In a low stance, he crept forward, stopping when he heard, “ _Sing for us, ya bloody Cintran scum!_ ”

The unmistakable groan of a prisoner being kicked left Geralt seeing red. With a roar, he tore threw the front of the tent to face a handful of surprised looking Nilfgaard soldiers. They reached for their weapons, only it was too late. Geralt swung his sword high and fast, slashing the throat of one man and piercing the heart of the other. Before the soldiers had a chance to even pick up a weapon and fight, they lay dead at Geralt’s feet. Panting, Geralt turned to find Jaskier chained to the floor, bloody and hurt, watching him with one eye fused shut and a damaged lute at his feet.

“Jaskier?” Geralt knelt, careful not to startle him. Purple bruises marked his skin. Some looked fresh, others turning a dark shade of yellow and green, telling Geralt this wasn’t the first time someone laid hands on Jaskier. A cold fury burned inside him. Knuckles clenched white, and mouth pulled tight into a grimace, Geralt wanted to kill someone.

“Geralt?” Jaskier was slow to answer him, but a slow smile spread on his lips. “Am I dreaming?”

“No.” He sighed and Jaskier cocked his head his head in disbelief. “It’s me, Jaskier. I’m here.”

“ _Oh, thank fuck_.” The chains on his wrists rattled as he moved forward the moment Jaskier crashed into him.

Geralt stilled.

They stayed like that for a while, Jaskier pressed face first against his chest, clutching onto him for dear life, with Geralt not knowing how to respond. Then, as if by magic, Geralt slowly wrapped his arms around Jaskier only to realize the bard was crying. _Fuck_.

“Uh, it’s okay, Jaskier.” He ran his fingers through the damp strands of Jaskier’s hair. Geralt was never good at this comforting business. “I’m here.”

“Fuck, Geralt. Are you still mad at me?” Jaskier sniffled against his chest. “Please say you’re not still mad at me.”

That weepy voice just about crushed him. Somehow, he had to make things right, fix the shitstorm he caused back on that mountain. The Child Surprise, the Djinn, _all of it_ , Geralt needed Jaskier to know none of it was his fault, but right now, he needed to get Jaskier the hell out of here.

“Fuck, I’m not. I’m not mad at you, Jaskier,” he soothed in a rough whisper. “I was an ass to blame you the way I did. And I’m… I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Any of it.”

The bard went still in his arms, and Geralt held his breath in wait.

“What you said wasn’t fair.”

“I know.”

“Uh, right. But you’re here now, so I guess it’s okay.” Jaskier sniffled again.

“ _No it’s not!_ ” Geralt hissed. “Well, talk about this later, right now I’m getting you the fuck out of here!”

Jaskier lifted his head while Geralt searched his face. The swollen eye looked bad. It looked like it might never heal again. Fuck if that didn’t make Geralt grip Jaskier tighter. The bard had the most incredible blue eyes he’d ever seen. It made Geralt sick to his stomach thinking he might lose one of them. Using his magic, Geralt undid the iron bonds which shackled Jaskier’s wrists and ankles and lifted him to his feet.

“Where are we going?” Jaskier swallowed and leaned against him. Geralt easily supported his body weight with one arm. An urge to protect Jaskier for the rest of his life and keep him safe flowed through his veins. But then an icy chill hit him. Jaskier might not want that. He might want to get as far away as possible from him and never look back. If that happened, then Geralt would only have himself to blame.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked again. “Where are you taking me?”

He thought about it for a moment. The question should have been an easy one. I should have been with a straightforward solution. A simple, “ _I am taking you to the nearest medic and leaving,_ ” situation and leave it at that. But the thought of losing Jaskier over again made Geralt do something else instead.

He swallowed once or twice before giving an answer he never thought possible.

“Home, Jaskier,” he said. “I am taking you home, to Kaer Morhen.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, it feels like forever since I've written _anything_. But due to reasons I can't get into, I needed to take a break. A loooong break. I hope you enjoyed this collection. I might write a part two, not sure yet... If you liked it or hated it, a review would really make my day. :) And if you have a favorite, let me know! 
> 
> Please stay safe and healthy everyone.


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